Of Course, Shir
by Rowen-bsg
Summary: Sequel to my story Yesh shir


**Of Course, Shir**

by Ruth Owen

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_Disclaimer: Babylon 5 is not mine. Never was, never will be._

I'd like to blame this piece of silliness on Laura - and also thank her for beta reading it.

This is a sequel to "Yesh Shir" and I suggest you do read that before reading this one.

_Extra note: This story was written somewhere between 1993 and 1997. I'm currently in the process of uploading some of my old fanfiction to the archive._

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Garibaldi winced as the studs from G'Kar's clothing bit into his shoulder. And the back of his neck. Damn the Narn was heavy. Michael knew he would have had a hell of a time trying to shift the Ambassador's considerable mass on his own. Fortunately, though, Na'Toth was on the other side of the unconscious Narn, shouldering the burden in a seemingly effortless manner.

So much for a quiet Saturday night. Challenging Ivanova to a drinking contest wasn't the smartest thing G'Kar had ever done. Then again, he reconsidered; perhaps it was if Na'Toth's claim about... well... the amorous nature of intoxicated male Narns was true... Of course, G'Kar's luck would depend entirely on how Ivanova viewed the situation, and somehow Garibaldi didn't think she'd take it too well. He snorted at the understatement. Not take it too well. Sort of like saying the Centauri didn't take too well to a Na'ka'leen Feeder... But then she had surprised him in the past, and he supposed anything was possible... Highly unlikely, true, but possible.

Ahead of the staggering trio, Lieutenant Commander Susan Ivanova - second in charge of Babylon 5 and soon to be object of lust for a certain Narn Ambassador - weaved her way between pedestrians, leading them towards the transport tube.

'Weaved' was right, Michael thought as he tried to keep her in sight. She still had a large partially full vodka bottle clutched in one hand and her gait was definitely unsteady. How much had she had to drink, anyway? He had lost count somewhere around twelve shots when he'd been distracted by Jeff's arrival. Ivanova was Russian to the core and could hold her liquor with the best of them so it had to be somewhere around two fifths to judge from her present condition. He winced as she almost reeled into a Pak'ma'ra. Fortunately, the officer's display of bad temper on her way through the concourse to kick the butts of certain Ambassadors had engendered a substantial amount of awe in the pedestrians and most of them moved swiftly out of her path. Maybe 'awe' wasn't quite the word. Perhaps 'fear' or 'terror' would be more appropriate, he mused.

From the edge of the crowd he saw Jeff grinning at him with a raised eyebrow. He shot a glare at his CO who just responded with a small shrug and turned his attention back to Catherine. Yeah, thanks a lot Jeff. Let me cart around a comatose Narn Ambassador and keep an eye on your drunk as a skunk second. You just sit there drinking with your girlfriend and let me do the dirty work. It's all part of the job.

He heaved a long-suffering sigh, trying to arrange G'Kar's arm so it didn't rub the skin off his shoulders. It could have been worse, he supposed as they finally reached the tube doors. They could have met up with...

"Well, Mister Garibaldi..."

No. He closed his eyes hoping this was just a bad dream, but the rolling tones of the Centauri Ambassador were distinct and unmistakable.

Who had he offended to get stuck with this detail anyway? Sometimes the headaches **really** weren't worth the lousy pay. Like now.

"I see you are carting away some refuse, yes? I did not know you had left security and joined sanitation." Londo laughed heartily at his own joke, waggling his eyebrows at passersby. As usual he had a drink in one hand, bad manners in the other. Now he seemed to be wanting to add his life to those other burdens. Insulting a Narn was **not** a good way to live to a ripe old age. Na'Toth turned her head and bared her teeth at the tipsy Centauri who merely grinned at her.

"Ah, Ambashador Mollari." Ivanova moved out from behind the trio who had obscured her from Londo's sight. "I've been look'n for you. There's a little matter we need to discush." Her words were polite, if slightly slurred, but her tone... Michael fought to hide a grin as Londo blanched and involuntarily stepped back. It was obvious that the Ambassador thought her perfectly capable of carrying out any threat she made, even in her inebriated state. And to be fair to the Russian officer, he was probably right.

"Ah, Lieutenant Commander, I was just..." Londo began.

"You'd better watch out, Londo," Michael advised in a loud stage whisper, "I think she's only getting started tonight." He nodded significantly down at G'Kar's limp form, letting the Centauri draw his own conclusions as to exactly **how** the Narn had come to be in this condition.

"Yes. Well, I really must mingle. Good evening to you all." The Ambassador of the Centauri Republic retreated as fast as dignity would allow, looking nervously over his shoulder as he disappeared into the crowd. Ivanova moved to follow.

"Leave him, Susan," Garibaldi suggested as he and Na'Toth awkwardly maneuvered the unconscious Narn into the tube car. "You can look him up later. Right now I need your help with Ambassador G'Kar."

Ivanova pouted, swaying slightly and looking rebellious. Michael gave her the patented pleading look he'd successfully used on women in the past and was both surprised and gratified when she shrugged then followed them inside.

"Green... green..." she frowned. "Where th'hell are we goin'?"

"Green two," Michael ordered, and let out a small sigh of relief as the car began moving. After a moment, he became aware of a hostile glare being cast in his direction and turned to find Na'Toth's red eyes boring into him.

Great. What had he done now?

"Why did you allow that... Centauri," -she hissed the word as an epithet - "to believe that a human female had physically bested a Narn?"

Michael gritted his teeth - it was turning into one of those days when everything he said or did offended everyone. Thank God it was almost over. Taking the bull by the horns, or in this case, the Narn by the... He shook his head slightly. No, Michael. You **definitely** don't want to go there.

"I thought it would get rid of Londo before he really caused a scene. Besides," he added slyly, "Londo's probably frightened enough that he'll go and hide for a few days from the Lieutenant Commander..."

There was a slight gleam in the attache's eye as she thought about it. "Good. We could use the quiet in the Council meetings."

Garibaldi grinned - he liked Na'Toth.

"Doesn' matter if he hides," Ivanova declared, leaning up against the wall, "**I'll** find him."

"Find who?" G'Kar mumbled, raising his head slightly and looking around blearily. He blinked owlishly, then focused on Ivanova, a smile spreading across his face. Thankfully the tube doors opened at that point and Garibaldi and Na'Toth half dragged him into the corridor.

"Come along, Ambassador," Na'Toth said in a briskly cheerful voice as they headed towards his quarters.

"But..."

"We'll have you home in a moment," Garibaldi interrupted. Better hurry this along before things got out of hand.

"Oh." G'Kar seemed to think about that for a moment, then threw his head back and opened his mouth:

"Not many fishies left in the sea. Not many fishies - just one for me."

Garibaldi turned his head, trying to save the hearing in his right ear as G'Kar bellowed out two lines of song. Off key. The Ambassador continued repeating the same lines over and over, craning his neck to try and see Ivanova who was trailing behind them.

"G'Kar... G'Kar! Would you keep the noise down?" Garibaldi shouted as Na'Toth retrieved her identicard and opened the door.

"Ah, but life should be like a song, Mr. Garibaldi," G'Kar declared grandiosely with an expansive arm gesture that Garibaldi just managed to duck. Unfortunately the movement put the large Narn off balance and he spun in their grasp, almost falling.

Michael grimaced, and cursed silently as he bashed his shin solidly into G'Kar's rock desk, but managed to keep going. It seemed an almost impossible task. Now that G'Kar was conscious, he was trying to 'help,' but was only succeeding in making the process harder. It was as if for every step forward they took, they took another back. Or sideways. At the entrance to his sleeping chambers G'Kar removed his arms from their shoulders and drew himself up to his full height.

"I am quite, quite capable of doing this on my own, thank you." The expression on his face was haughty, but the appearance was marred by an ungraceful lurch as he crossed the room. He began muttering as he threw items from a drawer, obviously searching for something.

"Thank you for your assistance, Mr. Garibaldi." Na'Toth thanked and dismissed him at the same time, for which Michael was grateful. He still had to get Ivanova back to her quarters, somehow, before she tried to go Londo hunting... Ivanova. He looked around the Narn suite. Damnit! Where the hell had she gone? She'd been right behind him a moment ago.

"Ah!" G'Kar's tone was triumphant as he held some object in his hand, oblivious to the piece of lacy red lingerie that had somehow managed to attach itself to his armor.

"Lieutenant Commander!" he bellowed, reeling back into the main room. "Lieutenant Commander."

"She's not here, G'Kar," Michael told him from the door which had just swished open. Ivanova wasn't in sight.

G'Kar blinked hard, a puzzled expression crossing his face.

"But I have something for her. A gift."

"Why don't you give it to me, Ambassador, and I'll see that she gets it," Garibaldi suggested. The last thing he needed to be doing tonight was filling out accident reports on Ivanova's actions after being accosted by a very drunk and very amorous Narn. Or explaining to Ivanova tomorrow why **he'd** let her go to bed with G'Kar in her inebriated state, **then** filling out the accident reports.

"Oh no." G'Kar shook his head, holding the item away from Garibaldi so that the man could not reach it. "I must give it to her myself. I have a profisition... a procipition... a... suggestion for her."

Garibaldi raised his eyebrows, and exchanged a significant glance with Na'Toth.

"Come now, Ambassador," the aide said, swiftly plucking the object from his gloved hand and depositing it in Garibaldi's. "I am sure the Lieutenant Commander is... fatigued. The discussion can wait until tomorrow. When she is in a better frame of mind."

'Yeah, some chance of that,' Michael thought. "Good night Ambassador. Na'Toth."

"On the morrow, the lady shall be won. She shall..." the rest of the sentence was cut off by the door closing.

Michael glanced up and down the corridor: it was empty. Fantastic. Sighing fatalistically, he trudged back the way they had come.

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"Not many fishies left in the sea. Not many fishies - just one for me." G'Kar's singing was loud and out of tune as Garibaldi and Na'Toth hauled the Narn into his quarters. Susan winced as he hit a particularly off note and leaned up against the corridor wall. She'd wait for Garibaldi out here until the little man playing the big drums inside her head decided to take a break. Then she had to... She frowned. What did she have to do? She knew there was **something** that needed doing. Someone who needed their thinking adjusted... Ah, Londo. She smiled as recollection came flooding back. After she patiently explained to him the grievous error he had committed in pissing Ivanova off, all would be well. Of course, it was possible they might need a new Centauri Ambassador, but she could live with that...

The thought halted mid-synapse as her brain registered something odd. Something you did not expect to see aboard a space station, much less in the secure Ambassadorial wing.

A cat.

A black cat.

A running black cat.

'God, I sound like a kid's reading primer,' she thought disgustedly, turning her head to watch as the black streak disappeared around the corner.

Footsteps echoed down the corridor from the direction the cat had come and a moment later a Vree skidded around the corner. Ivanova thought she recognized him - or was it her? - as the Vree Ambassador's aide. But what caught her attention was the large knife clutched in its paw. Kind of obvious when the blade was at least a foot long.

Before she had consciously formed the decision, she found herself standing in the middle of the corridor blocking its path. Even in her befuddled state she could still put two and two together. Granted she'd probably end up with 'five', but in this case 'five' meant cat stew.

The alien skidded to a halt, dancing from foot to foot; obviously impatient to get past her.

"Hold it one moment," she said ominously with a matching glare. "It's a violation of shtation regulations to carry weapons. It's also 'gainst the rulesh t'bring live, unsac... unsaction'd animals on board for the purposh of conshum... to eat them. So, unless you want me to tell the Chief of Security, who is right in there," - she waved the almost empty bottle in the general direction of G'Kar's quarters - "I suggest you go. Now."

The attache stared at her for a moment, then muttered something she was sure was an insult in gutter Vree.

"Of course, I don't hafta bother Mr. Garibaldi," Ivanova said slowly. Menacingly. "I could deal with this all by myself." She took a deliberate step forward. The Vree held its ground for a moment, then with a frustrated sound retreated.

Grinning, Ivanova took a sip of the vodka remaining in the bottle. Rule number two: Don't mess with Ivanova. Now to find that cat.

After peering into the vents and calling 'here kitty' with no success, Susan was about to give up when she heard a plaintive 'meow.'

Crouched in the doorway of the transport tube was the small cat.

"Hey, kitty, I won't hurt you," she said softly, moving slowly toward it with hand outstretched. As she came within range of the sensor panel, the tube door opened and the cat darted inside.

"It's okay," she reassured, following it inside and sitting on the floor. "Susan has chased the bad Vree away." The cat eyed her warily and Ivanova really couldn't blame it. After all, the poor thing had almost ended up on the dinner table.

"Don't worry," she told it, swirling the last of the vodka in the bottle, then gulping it down, "Ivanova will find a home for you."

"Thanks for the offer," said an amused male voice, "but I've already got a home."

Susan looked up and saw Garibaldi lounging in the doorway, arms folded and looking down at her with a small smile.

"I wasn' talkin to you, Mikey. I was talkin' to Felix."

His eyebrows rose. "Felix?"

"The cat," she responded, turning her head to look... at an empty space. Puzzled, she frowned, then struggled to her feet, ignoring Garibaldi's outstretched hand. "It was right here." She looked around. No cat.

"What was?"

"The cat." Didn't the man ever listen? She stuck her head out into the corridor. "A black one. You must've seen it run outta here."

She hadn't had **that** much to drink, had she? Garibaldi wondered as he caught her arm before she could go out looking for the mythical animal.

"Ivanova there **aren't** any cats on the station," he said gently. "Remember that incident six months ago with the Dineelians? Since then, Jeff banned all household pets, Terran or otherwise." Michael felt a pair of blue eyes pinning him to the wall.

"I'm not halluc'nating, Garibaldi. There **was** a cat here."

"Of course, sir," he agreed neutrally, drawing her fully inside the transport tube. "After I've seen you safely home I'll send someone up here to find it. Okay?" He ordered the lift to Ivanova's floor.

"Black cat. Typical," she muttered, leaning up against the wall and closing her eyes. "Like I need any more bad luck."

Speaking of bad luck, Garibaldi remembered that he still had G'Kar's 'gift' for her.

"Here. A present from Ambassador G'Kar." She opened her eyes and he deposited the liquid filled vial in her hand.

"What is it?"

Garibaldi just shrugged. "Beats me."

Carefully, she worked the stopper out and sniffed cautiously at the contents. Looking puzzled, she dipped the end of her little finger in rolled the substance between her fingers and thumb, feeling the texture.

"Cinnamon oil. What th'hell 'm I s'posed to do with cinnamon oil?"

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_This was written for a Challenge by Laura following the story: "Yesh Shir"_

_Assignment: Ivanova, three fifths of vodka, a cat and a vial of cinnamon oil in a transport tube_


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